I dont know where I'm going, but I sure know where I've been

Two summers ago I thought I was setting records by the amount of time I spent away from home. More than a few work trips to LA, Minneapolis, Chicago, and the Hamptons, punctuated in between with three-day weekends at the Jersey shore, ensured that I was never in New York City longer than five days at a given time. Since I hated my workspace and lived in an apartment the size of a shoebox, I was, for the most part, okay with that.

As it turns out, however, this summer is looking like it will go down in history as the most traveled summer of my professional career. I spent nine days in New York last month. Nine hot, humid, exhausting, mice-infested days. This Saturday I am headed back for another eight days. I'll come back to LA for one more week, and then turn right back around and spend a record two weeks on the east coast. Ten days or so will be in NYC, broken up by a weekend trip to Boston to see family that threatens to disown me if I head east one more time without seeing them.

And then? After I get back? It's looking like a second annual trip to Hotlanta is in the works! Ruby Tuesdays, here I come! When that's over, it will be nearly Fashion Week in New York and possibly another reason to go back for a day or ten.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not complaining. Not one bit. (Well, maybe just one little tiny bit - but only the size of a small mouse-dropping bit). I just find it funny that I felt so destined to find a future in LA, and all I keep doing is heading back east.